


We Need a New 7 Seat (or, the one where they all join a rowing team)

by psyche_girl



Category: References to Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Confused Spock, Crack, Cracked-out AU, Gen, Horny Jim Kirk, I Don't Even Know You Guys, Long-suffering Bones, Rowing, Uhura was basically born to be a coxswain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:32:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyche_girl/pseuds/psyche_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Account of Cadet Kirk's Noble Attempt to Resurrect the Ancient Sport of Rowing at Starfleet Academy, with commentary by Leonard T. McCoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Need a New 7 Seat (or, the one where they all join a rowing team)

“We need a new 7 seat,” Bones observed. “And a new co-captain.”

They _desperately_ needed a new co-captain. McCoy had been friends with Kirk for over three years, and was therefore intimately acquainted with all the many, many ways in which Kirk was not qualified to be captain of anything, even something as underfunded and insignificant as Starfleet Academy’s three-week-old rowing team.

Kirk sighed. “I wish they hadn’t suspended Mitchell.”

Mitchell was – or had been – possibly the only person in the entire universe _less_ qualified to be a rowing captain than James T. Kirk. Bones raised his eyes to the sky and prayed for patience.

“Jim. Mitchell was not only a totally useless co-captain and a totally crap rower, he was also on seven different kinds of illegal substances, and he didn’t even have the basic intelligence or decency to be subtle about it. He was running around the central quad screaming about how the white sparkly mind powder had made him a god. A _god_ , Jim.”

“I still wish they hadn’t suspended him.”

“He threatened to exterminate the Dean because all humanoids were inferior to his divine brilliance. He threatened to exterminate _you_.”

A mournful expression passed across Kirk’s face. “Yeah. He was a wonderful friend.”

Bones took a deep breath. A deep, deep, slow breath.

“Hey, do you think I should hold tryouts again?”

_No_ , Kirk should not hold tryouts again. McCoy still had nightmares about Kirk’s first attempt at tryouts. Half the beings that showed up had been hoping to sleep with Kirk; the other half had already slept with Kirk and were hoping for a chance to scream at him. They had been _dazzlingly_ lucky to scrape 8 rowers and a coxswain out of the resulting clusterfuck (which explained a lot about how Mitchell had made the cut, to be honest, since he was the only applicant with any rowing experience whatsoever, although how he had made co-captain was a matter between Kirk and Kirk’s insanity).

“I think I should hold tryouts again,” Kirk said decisively.

“…Whatever,” Bones gruffly conceded, after a solid 5 minutes contemplating the impossibility of convincing Kirk to change his mind about anything, ever. “I’m going to go talk to Uhura and see if _she_ can work out some kind of actual plan.”

 

 

Uhura was one of the rare few at the rowing tryouts who had neither slept with Kirk nor wanted to, and had come for the express purpose of watching Kirk get screamed at. Bones knew the two of them had a solid basis for friendship based on these two facts alone. Fortunately, she was also 30 or so pounds under the average for her height and species,  and (they discovered, after she got tired of watching the Kirk-attacking and decided to join in) very good at screaming; she’d been selected as coxswain almost immediately, and it was only later that they discovered, in a stroke of stunning and unprecedented good fortune, that she was the second (and now only) member of their newly-made team that had actually been involved in rowing in any capacity, ever.

Kirk, being Kirk, was mostly just happy that he got to call her “cock” and pretend to be mispronouncing her actual title.

“So,” Bones said, dropping his tray on the table next to her, “Kirk thinks he should hold another round of tryouts for Mitchell’s seat. Do you want to bring the popcorn, or should I?”

“Aw, see,” Uhura grinned, “now you’ve got me all conflicted. I _was_ going to ask Pike’s old 7-seat if he could come row for us, but I kind of want to see Kirk get mauled again.”

This, Bones thought blissfully, biting into an apple, is why Uhura is a flawless human being.

“This,” he told her, “is why you are a flawless human being.”

“Bring gin this time,” she told him. “We’ll take shots every time Kirk forgets Janice Rand’s name.”

And that was how S’chn T’gai Spock came to row with the crew of the _Enterprize_.

 

 

“I do not understand,” Spock said, surveying the crew. “Would it not be more logical for the shortest rowers to be seated in bow?”

Scotty and Keenser, 5 and 6 seat respectively, were by far the shortest and most enthusiastic ‘engine room’ pair any boat had ever had. Bones had, at first sight, mistaken them for the only two beings present who had come to tryouts out of a genuine interest in the sport. (It turned out they actually came because Keenser had once slept with Kirk, and Keenser’s new boyfriend wanted to tag along while zhe yelled, but given that Keenser’s species was very short-spoken and Kirk was very busy at the time it was perhaps not surprising that Bones had missed Keenser’s yelling.) But once they’d been sat down in the (carefully docked) _Enterprize_ and been allowed to try rowing a few strokes, they took to it with an enthusiasm that even Kirk sometimes found disturbing. Scotty, evidently an engineering student, had fallen into what could best be described as religious ecstasies over the boat’s construction, making enthusiastic, incoherent exclamations about the streamlining of primitive propulsion mechanisms and rigging adjustments and relative stroke length, and had immediately begged to be permitted the honor of personally washing, retuning and repairing the entire ‘lovely lady’ by hand before and after every practice. Bones was never quite sure whether to be grateful, or deeply concerned.

(Gratitude usually won out. Bones spent quite enough concern looking after Kirk; he really only had so much available worrying energy to go around.)

“Well, sure, _logically_ ,” said Kirk, grinning. “But you only think that because you haven’t seen these two haul ass yet. They’ve got _thrust_ , if y’know what I’m saying. I've never seen any being stroke quite as long, hard, and smooth as Keenser does. These guys really know how to _pull_ a _cox_ along-”

“And here are Sulu and Chekov,” Bones hastily interrupted. “Here, Spock, meet Sulu and Chekov.”

Sulu and Chekov were the only two beings who had _actually_ shown up out of a genuine interest in tryouts, although this interest was perhaps a little less rowing-motivated than one could have hoped.

“I love extreme sports,” Sulu had told Bones, a maniacal gleam lighting in his eyes as he waved a spare oar around like a jousting lance. “Rowing’s an extreme sport, right? Like, really dangerous?”

Three days ago, Bones would have answered ‘no’ to that question, but that was before he’d known Jim Kirk was trying to start a rowing team. Jim Kirk could, if left unsupervised, very plausibly end up involving the entire team in some freak accident involving two Professors, one sheep, and a Klingon, and get them all blown up or, worse, expelled.

“It’s not _supposed_ to be dangerous!” Bones said. “Please put that oar down!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Sulu said peaceably, ignoring Bones’s frantic grabbing motions. “I’m joining every sports team the Academy offers anyway, just in case. You never know when you’re gonna find an extreme _moment_ , you know? Say, do you know if practices are going to conflict with Skydiving? Or Andorian dance?”

Chekov had been… different.

 When he’d first met him, Bones had, frankly, been at a loss to explain what Chekov was actually doing at tryouts. He didn’t seem to need herding toward Kirk or away from him, and he didn’t particularly seem to be exhibiting any interest in the boat (although, to be fair, no one else was either).

“Hello,” Bones called, gravitating instinctively toward what seemed to be an island of sanity or, at least, quiet, in the midst of all of Kirk’s screaming exes. “Can I help you?”

“Hello,” the kid said gravely. “I am Chekov, Pavel Andreivitch. I am wery good at mathematics.”

“…Er. Okay? Good for you, kid.”

Chekov, Pavel Andreivitch just stood there.

“…My name is Bones?” Bones offered.

More standing. The kid didn’t seem inclined to move anytime soon, or to explain his presence. It was kind of like staring down a very small, very fluffy brick wall.

“…Why are you here?” Bones eventually asked. 

“My advisor has told me I need to cultiwate an interest outside of mathematics. I must become rounded.”

“…Right,” said Bones. “Well, if you want to join the team, you should really go talk to Kirk. He’s the dipstick organizing this whole shitshow. Or Mitchell, but I think he’s off somewhere getting high.”

The kid stood there some more.

“… _Do_ you want to join the rowing team?”

“Rowing is not mathematics,” said the kid.

“Er,” said Bones. “No? Although you do get assigned a seat number, if you join the boat. And _no matter what_ Kirk might tell you, nobody’s seat number is actually 69. The _Enterprize_ has only 8 seats.”

“I like numbers,” said Chekov, Pavel Andreivitch, and Bones decided enough was enough and went off to find the flask he’d stashed behind the boat shed. But come Monday, Chekov had turned up to practice, sliding quietly into 3-seat behind Sulu as if he’d always been there, talking very little and inspiring Chapel to make enthusiastic cooing noises over his accent.

“Hello,” Chekov, Pavel Andreivitch said to Spock. “I am Chekov, Pavel Andreivitch. I am wery good at mathematics.”

Bones wondered if Chekov actually knew more than about 20 stock phrases of Standard. It might explain a lot.

“I know you,” Spock said. “You attend several of my advanced theoretical seminars. You are in no way qualified for the physical rigors of rowing, nor have you previously expressed interest in this or any other extracurricular activity. What has motivated you to engage in such an unsuitable pursuit?”

Chekov just stood there. Bones was gratified to note that Spock seemed just as flummoxed by this strategy as he had been.

…Unfortunately, it turned out Spock was also less patient.

“Is your attendance here inspired by your supervisor’s recent advice that you, in the human colloquialism, ‘get a life’?”

“Aaaaaaaaaaand we’re moving on,” Kirk said hastily, grabbing Spock’s shoulders to steer him further down the boat and away from Chekov’s mildly confused kicked-puppy expression. “Here’s Chapel. Have you met Chapel? You’ll love her. Every gynophillic being loves Chapel, she’s got amazing boobs.”

Chapel made a squeaking noise.

Christine Chapel was the only person that had actually been _literally_ terrorized into joining the boat so far, which Bones felt spoke wonders for the egalitarian, fair-minded, pacifist attitudes of the _Enterprize’s_ crew and for his own ability to restrain Kirk. Chapel’s fiancée, Roger Corvin, had apparently promised Mitchell some weeks before tryouts that he would join the team, but had then dropped out before the first session even been held after a flaming row with Kirk about the efficiency of humans versus robots in powering boats. Kirk and Mitchell (this was during one of Mitchell’s more lucid episodes) had hacked the Starfleet Academy records system to find Roger’s room number and shown up at his dorm at 5 in the morning with jury-rigged phasers, to tell him that they only had 8 men and if he wanted to quit, he’d better be ready to find another rower to fill his place or die trying. Chapel, who was easily terrified, had volunteered on the spot to fill her fiancé’s seat.

Weirdly, this arrangement had satisfied everyone except Corvin, who was still trying to convince Kirk that they really should row using androids.

Bones liked having Chapel in 2-seat. She was the only person on the team who was both sweet enough to bring extra coffee in the morning and bitchy enough to join him in damning Jim Kirk’s ancestors whenever the boat got tangled in yet another buoy or ran aground in the shallower waters of San Francisco bay. And she knew some really vivid Andorian curse words.

“And I’m bow,” Bones finished up. “Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy, at your service.”

“I do not understand,” Spock repeated. Bones had a feeling Spock was going to be repeating that a lot. “Are you not too tall for bow seat?”

Bones was, indeed, too tall for bow seat, at least according to Uhura who knew about these things. But he categorically refused to sit in any seat where he couldn’t see what everybody else was doing.

“Dunno about that,” Bones told Spock. “I’m a doctor, not an athlete. I’m only here because I’ve got the good sense not to leave Jim Kirk to run around with an entire rowboat unsupervised.”

“I do not understand” said Spock, V-shaped brows furrowed in confusion. “The sport of rowing does not involve running. Nor would Cadet Kirk be unsupervised, as he is responsible for supervising this team.”

“That’s the whole problem,” Bones explained patiently. “I like Starfleet Academy the way it is. You know, still standing. And not blown up.”

“What?” said Spock.

“It’s a figure of speech,” said Bones.

“What?” said Spock.

“Fuck’s sake,” said Bones. “I need an Irish coffee.”

“So, Spock, tell me” Kirk asked, draping himself across the bow of the boat in a way he no doubt thought was appealing, “are you single?”

**“HANDS ON,”** said Uhura.

“-Because, you know, you can put _your_ ‘hands on’ _me_ anytime you want to-”

**“THAT MEANS YOU, KIRK.”**

“You can put _your_ hands on me, too, y’know, Ms. Cock, that offer still stands-”

**“LIFTING TO WAISTS ON THREE. KIRK, STOP GIVING THE OAR A HANDJOB AND PICK UP THE DAMN BOAT.”**

 “I need _two_ Irish coffees,” said Bones grimly, and reached out to haul the boat into the water with the rest of the crew.


End file.
